


Sepia Christmas

by earthseraph



Series: 30 Day OTP Christmas Challenge [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Domesticity, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-02
Updated: 2014-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-27 20:12:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2705081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earthseraph/pseuds/earthseraph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Can’t believe these are still around, Buck,” he yelled, “thought some collector would have swiped them up.”</p>
<p>Bucky hummed noncommittally from where he was tangled in tree lights, “Don’t know why’d they want cheap ornaments and all your handmade shit.”</p>
<p>(Day 1: getting out/putting up decorations)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sepia Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> This is kinda short but because I only just decided to write this.. enjoy!

The boxes of Christmas ornaments were worn and dusty, but the contents inside were as pristine as they left them more than seventy years ago. 

See, growing up during The Roaring Twenties and The Great Depression pulled two strings. For a few years of his life, Steve and his Ma had enough money to support themselves and get something nice every so often. Then, the stock market crashed and everything went to hell. Jobs were hard to find, money was scraped off like gum on the bottom of your shoe, and Pa passed away. But, even through all the tough times, Ma always made sure Steve had something to look forward to every December. She’d come home from working at the clinic with a small, thin tree, but a wide smile on her face, and tell Steve to pull out the ornaments. 

When she passed away Steve always took out their ornaments and used whatever spare money he and Buck had to decorate their raggedy tree. It wasn’t a lot, but it made him and Bucky feel a little more at home and a little warmer during Brooklyn Decembers. They’d stay up late decorating the thing with paper and metal ornaments, a thin string of garland, and some red fabric they used as a rug. 

But now, living in their brownstone, still in Brooklyn but a slightly nicer side than where they grew up, they don’t need to scrape up dimes or pass over meals for a tree; they don’t need to _struggle_. 

Steve smiled, picking up three boxes as he went up the stairs to their living room, “Can’t believe these are still around, Buck,” he yelled, “thought some collector would have swiped them up.”

Bucky hummed noncommittally from where he was tangled in tree lights, “Don’t know why’d they want cheap ornaments and all your handmade shit.”

Steve snorted and set the boxes down by Bucky, “Well, they sure went for my sketchbooks and your old clothes.” He sat himself down on the floor by Bucky’s pajama clad legs and excitedly opened the box. He could smell the _oldness_ , that musty and damp scent that was pleasantly pungent, pulled out one of his paper trees and held it lightly in his hand. Oh how it’d been so long since he held these. 

“The same books that had some naked sketches of me?” Bucky asked, pausing putting up lights to look down at Steve with a raised eyebrow. 

“Exact same. Wonder how they took that.” Steve snorted, digging out some of the ornaments and setting them on the wooden floor. He smiled when Bucky gave up on the lights and joined him, opening another box and sifting through it. 

Steve watched the other man for a while, a dopey smile no doubt on his face- but he couldn’t help it, he was glad Bucky came home.

After months of looking for Bucky, Steve gave up. He didn’t want to, but figured that Bucky just didn’t want to be found, that Bucky didn’t remember him. And he came to peace with that. Sure, he was bitter and that bitterness ate at his heart, but he ignored it and went on with his life. He went on missions across the Atlantic- even though it sparked a fear in him like no other- he had lunch dates with Natasha and Sam, he tried to live. And then, two months into his “living”, Bucky found him. 

Steve walked into his small DC apartment, shield on his back, cuts and bruises all over his face, and just about collapsed against the door when Bucky’s familiar voice rang out saying “Hey, punk.” and that’s how he knew _his_ Bucky was back. 

They had rough times, not everything was black and white when it came to Bucky’s memory and mental state, but Bucky was there to stay and Steve was there to help. And this is where they are now, almost a year later, living in a brownstone with a Christmas tree and the fire going. The picture of domesticity. 

“Hey,” Bucky said, breaking Steve out of his thoughts, with a smile on his face, “ain’t this the one I made your Ma?”

Steve looked up and nodded, “Sure is. You made that around the time she was getting sick and it brought a smile on her face.” He remembered his mom, once a strong lady turning frail like her son, sitting on their worn couch watching him and Bucky set up the small tree with a knowing look in her eyes. She’d just sit there, blankets on her lap, head in the palm of her hand and smile at him and Buck when they argued over who got to stick the star on the tree top. He remembers taking her to bed, himself already tired but stayed up for his Ma’s and Bucky’s sake, and her setting her cold palm on the top of his hand, telling him to never let Bucky out of his sight, before giving him a kiss on the cheek and sending him back to the living room. 

Steve nodded to whatever Bucky was saying, a little choked up from all the old memories resurfacing and because the ornament he held in his hand. The ornament was a metal tree with a sepia picture in the center. The picture was of him and Bucky. Both of them smiling wide at the photo booth camera, in their teens, with no worries in the world. Bucky’s face looked so young and bright, nothing like how it did before the war and only slightly like how it looks now. 

He felt a tear slip down his face and tried to wipe it away before Bucky noticed- but Bucky was an ex-assassin, he noticed everything. 

“You okay, Stevie?”

Steve nodded, “Yeah, just-” he looked up at Bucky and gave him a watery smile, “I’m just glad you’re home.” He looked down at the picture and rubbed his thumb against the glass. As much as he missed the Bucky from before the war, the Bucky who couldn’t sit still and loved to go dancing, he thinks he may love this Bucky even more. 

Bucky gave him his own sad smile and moved the ornaments gently to the side, he slid across the wooden floors and pulled Steve into his arms, head resting on Steve’s hair, “I’m glad to be back too, punk.”

**Author's Note:**

> [Follow Me On Tumblr!](http://santabuck.tumblr.com/)


End file.
